Mentioning: @Nicholas McCowan | Dialogue Hex: #143314

1st of August, 2021

It was no clandestine piece of confidential information with clues hidden in un-colloquial corners of the country that one would have to reserve their hysteria for a more shocking sight than Leonard Oaksworth flopping limply onto his bed after a day of having to function—even worse, having to function in the presence of human beings, those pesky things of cacophony and expected courtesy that continuously contaminated the universe with their very existence—and only emerging after a good three days of going through nihilistic crisis and realising he’d run out of biscuits in his non-secret secret biscuit jar and had to orchestrate another grand, daring caper. The young Slytherin was far from a social creature, and every day he was forced to masquerade as someone who could at least tolerate those who were social creatures, he strayed further and further from any possibility of becoming one without requiring a few different curses, a light sprinkling of hexes and a potion or two on top. Unfortunately for anyone who had the utter cretinism to think they wished to commence a conversation with him and fortunately for everyone else, every day of that masquerading quite literally added up to being every single day in his Hogwarts career. Really, it would be a foolish thing to think one wouldn’t be thrust immediately into a communal organisation of some sort, much less have to fraternise with those in and out of the organisation. Organisation being used in its definition as a body of people usually made for a purpose, for not in his nearly three years of being present at class of chaos had he thought even the most convincing of con artists could say in all their lying ability that anyone or anything in the castle was organised. It was a terrible, awful thing, but having to communicate with people had become a necessity for survival in the school, and he had to adapt to his new area of alimentation. So, he had, to some extent, and though he was still two planets and five moons away from being an entity of endless charm and congeniality to everyone around him, he could put up with all of it. He certainly didn’t like it, but it was obvious he needed to put some amount of effort in order, which was once again, a definition that most definitely was not that of a particular arrangement, to avoid immediate destruction in the public hierarchy he’d worked so hard to not fall to the bottom of.

By all logic and information provided thus far by the series of messes and failures and more messes and more failures that was his life, when the time came about Hogwarts made it known the campgrounds were open once more for the summer, Leonard should’ve avoided it like a horde of hostile hags and mosquito-basilisk-kelpie was going to be there, and frankly, he was sure the feasibility of that happening, however small it appeared to be, was unquestionable. He should’ve dashed from the campus the second his presence was no longer required to fulfill an attendance check, never looking back after he passed the border between haunted forest and children’s jungle. He should’ve learned apparition decades before he’d entered the forsaken castle, created a conjuration to nullify the resistance against it, and then teleported out of there and founded his own school with much safer perimeters and many more rules. Alas, all logic and information meant nothing in the scruffily, yet somehow attractive to half their neighbours bearded face of one Welsh father by the nickname of Leodad. It was something the boy had learned from an age much younger than his current set of supposedly unlucky digits, that no amount of sensible reasoning could, well, reason with his old man. It was an enigmatic quality he found in an equally enigmatic majority of people, that rationalising with actual rationale hardly worked to move a sizable portion of the population from their positions on a given proposition, but when you threw in some slightly exaggerated anecdote about a lost puppy or a little waver in your voice suddenly they were willing to listen to everything you had to say with an elephant’s pair of ears. It was a behaviour that so many of those he’d met displayed openly, yet he could barely grasp the ratiocination behind it past that of humans naturally being drawn to such easily feigned actions. However, unable to comprehend did not mean unable to appreciate, and most certainly did not mean unable to use to his advantage. It was substantially more difficult to fabricate stories of great loss and agony when he was telling the stories to someone who could recall that last Saturday was spent at a quaint restaurant exploring bits of German cuisine and not at the tragic death of his beloved great-great-grandfather by a bolt of lightning, but once the younger version of him had figured out the pattern, he tried his best to employ the emotion-tugging tactic in every place he could. Now, by all not-logic and non-information, it should’ve worked that time as well, being that in all the accidents and adversity he’d perhaps partially caused the ploy had worked its magic, and this was one of the few times he felt it was legitimately necessary. Woe be his sanity, for either his father had gotten wise to his wily ways (extremely unlikely, for a count at the cash register revealed they were missing at least ten per cent in pounds stolen by customers with sad lives) or considered camp such an important adventure he was willing to let go of all the horror stories his son had told him (extremely likely, for a count of all the times the snake could remember having been involuntarily shoved to one ‘unforgettable experience’ or another that he’d tried to forget forever revealed that at least one hundred and ten per cent of those were due to his dear old dad) and stood firm in his stance. After a month in his personal paradise of all things pleasurable with the company of himself, himself, and himself, Leonard was going back to the school of witchcraft, wizardry, and merciless children who hungered for the tears of the innocent and the souls of the innocuous. Mostly merciless children who hungered for the tears of the innocent and the souls of the innocuous, anyhow. He could only hope he’d meet the few who didn’t feed off despair and be able to stick with them for the whole of the trip.

Once the news had solidified in his mind as truth and not a nightmare that seemed to be lasting forever, he resolved to make lemonade out of the lemons that had been squeezed directly onto his eyes after a record-winning amount of sulking on his floor. While he didn’t quite consider it to be as large of a concern as the actual schooling to happen after August had passed, he figured it to be somewhere around a school year in self-decided importance. After all, he’d be in the same encampment as a sizable amount of the future first years, and on the assumption that cabins were only partially affected by house, he’d have the chance to meet more of his batchmates as well. Naturally, he did not want to meet either the excitable newcomers or the impressionable samecomers too often, by reason of both groups being able to chase after him as much as they wished if he happened to slight them in some way. He didn’t exactly want to get in contact with too many of the upperclassmen, either, by reason of them being much too intimidating for his liking with their slightly larger amount of scourge-bringing spells. The solution was obvious: don’t talk to anyone, stay in a hole at the border of the campgrounds while using a charm to bring over enough sustenance to not turn into a corpse, and continue the cycle until school begun. Simple and effective, two of the best words one could use to describe one's design. However, age had brought wisdom to the schoolboy hermit, and such sagely insight brought him to the conclusion that his so-called simple solution was simply impossible. With such in mind, he continued forward, resolved to try not to make any enemies of those he couldn’t avoid meeting.

It was with a fully formulated checklist for the month and a pulse that would quickly end the life of every elderly person that Leonard entered the train. He scanned the compartments, taking great care to be sure his gaze was unnoticeable enough to not attract the attention of the first challenger to his refreshed mental stability. He’d taken just as much care to convince his parents to take him there five hours early so he could have the privilege of one, not being as squashed in the inevitable sardine can that was the queue to get to a chosen seat, and two, getting to actually try to choose that seat. He noted he would have to sacrifice at least half of his meals once he arrived at camp to the flames, on account of the universe finally having a bit of generosity and letting him have both. The happy not-yet-camper advanced through the corridor, deciding to settle into a compartment somewhere closer to the end of the train carriage.

In a moment as scarce as finding a peaceful occasion at the United Kingdom’s resident institution of information that probably shouldn’t have been given to hormonal preteens, Leonard was content. Surely, he could have this, even for a few seconds. With no human company, he could do anything. He could survive a sudden storm of hail by not having to worry about his seatmate trying to force him into the window. He could review his itinerary for the year unescorted by constant fear of a wand malfunction and the resulting fried chip of a brain. He could even start dancing to music his mind had procured from select parts of the Downton Abbey soundtrack without concern of tripping over someone else’s trunk and falling out the window to his slow, tortuous demise. He could also reckon that was a terrible idea regardless of company immediately afterwards, but it was an enjoyable idea.

He snapped to unfortunate reality upon hearing the faintest rattle of the door leading to his soon to be desecrated area of reverence. Surely, there was absolutely nothing good he could be sure of.

What had been excitement and a grand degree of readiness and desire to prove himself had quickly been soured by the events of the preceding day. The owl that had sought to feast upon his newly acquired pet, her equally intimidating owner, and the blood spilled from said owner had turned Nicholas’s mood from one of steadfast anticipation into caution once more. Summer camp was supposed to be his first step toward proving himself in the eyes of the school, and to his grandfather and his ilk, a training camp for the real deal that would be the academic year before him. Instead, he had found himself once more thrown out of his depths, and he had not yet even stepped foot upon the train. Yet, where he had been shaken, George had been entirely traumatised, the young lizard too timid to even poke his head out of his carry box. A box that Nicholas now held tightly to his chest, as if its contents were the most precious thing on Earth. For, in truth, to the soon to be second year, they were.

His focus had been so set on making sure that the animal was well cared for and defended against what could be any other danger, that he barely registered the farewells from his family. The firm hug from his father, the stern words to behave lost on the boy as he made the concrete choice to do anything but. The more tender embrace from his mother, although her words were sharper and far more threatening than her husband’s with regard to the requirement that he keep out of trouble. The behaviour of his siblings was as normal, three tantrums, equally loud in size and scope at the unfairness of the situation. Once more only one of their number was going to the school in the Highlands, and once more the unfairness of birth order was called into question. As he had done at roughly the same time the year prior, Nicholas had merely opted to ignore his wailing siblings and trudge himself up and onto the steam train.

The train itself was filled with the sounds of excitement and cheers that always accompanied groups of children, particularly those so excited to begin yet another year at a place so allegedly magical as Hogwarts. More than a few year first years had probably filed into the compartments, excited at the prospect of seeing the school grounds before they had even been sorted. Perhaps such a decision was the wiser, it allowed them to set themselves up for the year to come, to put themselves on the best footing possible to conquer the school. God only knew that was Nicholas’s plan, albeit one he had come to rather late. Still, his plan to finally break out of his shell and to try to build a name for himself amongst the school’s community would have to be put on the backburner, at least for the time being. He was hardly in the appropriate headspace to be actively engaging with other students, what with the unfortunate circumstances surrounding his visit to the pet store the day prior. No, this was a day for rest and the avoidance of social situations, a day where he could be the most comfortable that he could be. Such a plan entailed finding a nice, quiet compartment, and sitting with his thoughts.

As lady luck was so wont to do, she dashed any such hope of rest of relaxation. Instead, near every compartment he walked past was filled with student upon students, giggling and talking amongst one another in harmonious songs of humdrum and monotony. Nicholas did not care for small talk, and he could hardly bring himself to suffer through an entire train trip as the fifth wheel to a conversation discussing the minutia of who had a crush on who, and of days spent visiting grandparents over the holidays. Had it been another day, one where he was in a more comfortable mood, perhaps he could stomach it. But for the time being, it was hardly in his repertoire. Yet, fortune was an even crueller mistress, for not one compartment was without students. As he continued on his walk, pet box pressed firmly to his chest, the young lion began to prepare himself for the grim reality that he would likely have to share the trip with a stranger. For he had not yet spied any of the few students who he shared a passingly good relationship with.

The stranger in question would be one of the only boys who had been fortunate enough to grab a compartment to himself. Nicholas almost felt bad for the lad for his intrusion, but swiftly perished the thought as he heard the tell-tale high-pitched scream of an eleven-year-old girl. Better intruding on the other boy’s peace than subjecting himself to whatever in the name of the almighty that was.

He opened the carriage door and ruptured the other boy’s sanctuary. A sheepish smile erupted on his face as he did so, all apologies and well-mannered gesturing. He knew it was rude to intrude, his mother had informed him of such more times than he could possibly count, and that meant Nicholas was forced to tap into a well that was hardly one that he was prone to drinking from. Niceties and politeness.

“Sorry,” He said as he opened the door, “You don’t mind if I join you, do you? Everywhere else is full.”

As if to punctuate the question, the same giggling screech from earlier punctuated the air, and Nicholas visibly winced.

Whatever the other boy was like, it would be a darn sight better than being forced to deal with all manner of creature in the masquerade of student that may be prowling throughout the train.

Were he to graciously accept his wayward visitor, then Nicholas would waste no time in escaping from the train’s hallway, and would soon all but lounge on the seat across from the other boy. His manners may have extended to his way of speaking and address, but they certainly found no such home in his posture and dress.

Stats: STA: 12 | EVA: 6 | STR: 8 | WIS: 6 | ARC: 4 | ACC: 6
Abilities: Foulplay | Statistically Relevant
Interacting with @Leonard Oaksworth
Action: Let me in, please

Interacting With: @Nicholas McCowan | Dialogue Hex: #143314 | Action: Letting you in, please

There were many, many activities and objects and concepts and general things in existence that the Slytherin couldn’t even begin to fathom liking, and if any unfortunate crew of neurotransmitters were tested by having to undertake the treacherous task of taking a trip to his brain and trying to tally up everything to perfection, they would find noise to be on one of the top spots on that long, long, long, ever so long list of nuisances. Perhaps not the top spot, seeing as that one employee of his father’s bakery who insisted that no customer would care about a gram of missing flour in their cake and people who said irregardless also hadn’t yet been visited by Zeus or any of his modern equivalents and his mighty bolt that brought nothing but agonising demise, but it was certainly up there. Noise was something worthy of every single expression of abhorrence and atrociousness in the lexicon of languages both known and unknown to humanity in all its forms, of pudgy infants on public transportation blaring and bawling their lungs out to the point of the suffocation he so wished to experience in those moments, of sharing unevenly founded tables with chewing creatures who’d apparently dissolve into dust should they have stopped chattering for one second as the perpetual shouting and squawking continued in the cafetorium to litter up his ears, and of the sirens sweeping down streets to swiftly interrupt the deepest of slumbers. Each second of each minute of each hour of each day of each week of each month of each year and all the decimal points that inhabited the in-between points had so much noise, so many sounds and sights cluttering up a life that desired nothing but organisation. It didn’t take quite as long as it took for the rather Machiavellian lesson of manipulating one’s father to stick, this one being more of a factual piece of information instead of a controversial, guilt-inducing act, for him to ascertain that silence should be seized and kept close to one’s soul, that no amount of clamor and commotion could get to him if he simply didn’t let it.

Usually, that sort of inconclusive and abstract advice would promptly be left for the ever-devouring maws of the cafeteria’s resident critters, with much to interpret and little actually said. Of course he didn’t want the repulsive noise to get in, he wasn’t self-loathing to that point as of yet. How was ‘not letting it in’ going to do anything in practice when the words gave exactly zero testable methods of doing that? Still, the then-eight-year-old had known few resources of sagely advice who weren’t noises themselves, and he’d take anything from crumpled motivational posters to eavesdropped exchanges between two vitriolic lovers caught in conflict due to differences in occupation to get an answer. Unsurprisingly, it was not from the latter item he’d snatched up the enlightenment, although they had certainly made for entertaining scenes on slow days at the bakery. In truth, he could barely remember specifically how he’d found it, and for all he’d recollected, he could’ve been told that it was a magical note from his great-great-great-grandfather stashed away in a gilded chest holding more yet dark secrets and believe it. What he could recollect, however, was the way his interpretation worked spectacularly. Unlike many, many other ventures that had been far from successful, building up that mental concrete to create a mental room of nothing but mental clarity, protecting him from the eardrum-destroying bangs and booms of the world couldn’t be anything but successful. No matter that he also built up a wall that protected him from forming meaningful bonds between him and his muggle classmates, as well as doing the service of making it as hard as punching through an actual concrete wall to connect properly with his family. No matter at all.

Such strategy was obviously what he intended to employ for the duration of the ride to summer camp. After all, the activities scheduled for the month-long event would keep him awake enough to start believing he’d turned back time to face the enigmatic great-great-great-grandfather that may or may not have existed in the first place. If he was going to have even the shortest time possible to himself, he’d make sure to savour it and pay no attention to the million other periods of time where he wouldn’t. And so, he had, right up until the universe took that fleeting thought literally and smacked him right in the head with its own concrete in the form of an unsought guest. A relatively quiet guest compared to all the other potential visitors, but unsought all the same.

It was with a slightly embarrassed facial expression that seemed genuine enough to pass for well-meaning and a request the snake couldn’t help but sympathise with that said guest posed a dilemma for Leonard. Either he rejected the offer and bought himself a guilt-ridden minute of not-quite-peace accompanied by a new enemy or accepted the meeting while hoping that the other wasn’t secretly a wizard assassin out for revenge on all those who’d scorned his deceased mother. He decided to take his chances. If he were to break one of his self-imposed rules so soon, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, and that was saying something.

“Not at all, go ahead,” he gestured to the other seating in the compartment, feeling as though it would be a waste of their already limited area to share the same little bench if nobody else were to join. Merlin, did he hope nobody else would join, especially not those rascals who made peoples’ personal belongings their own playground of mayhem and mess. On cue, an audio demonstration that justified his fear, which may have either been recorded by a bat who’d inhaled a carnival’s worth of helium balloons or a girl encountering a hockey-masked man in a horror film.

He put on a polite smile after offering the sanctity of a seat, the same of which he’d shown upon welcoming customers to his father’s business or making an endeavour to keep those same customers upon them catching sight of his father being covered head to plimsolls in flour. It would be something quite like rude behaviour if he hadn’t at least introduced himself before resigning to another seven hours of solemn silence, wouldn’t it?

“I’m Leonard, Leonard Oaksworth. Rest assured, I won’t be trying to talk to any dolphins or break open the windows with my voice while we're here.”

“Cheers,” A single slurred word would serve Nicholas well in expressing his gratitude.

His usual lazed speech permutated his words, so that even as genuine as the sentiment was, the pronunciation faded into a degree of obscurity. The thanks were indeed genuine, for the continued screaming and giggling that had filled the remainder of the train was in many ways a fate that Nicholas attributed very much to one of the many circles of hell. A particular circle wherein the demons focused primarily on annoying the tortured souls under their rule.

The scream that followed the welcome was exactly the sort of thing that he was hoping to avoid, and swiftly he closed the door, attempting to gain some form of respite from the screeching beasts that were almost certainly excited soon to be first years. He hadn’t been that annoying last year, had he? Or was he just jaded? How he had become so embittered after a singular year at school was certainly a question that would have no good answer, thus he saw fit to merely file it away into the darkened recesses of his mind, where most uncomfortable thoughts were allowed to sit and stew in mellow mediocrity.

With that brief flash of self-reflection squarely ignored, Nicholas entered the compartment properly, throwing himself on to the seat with reckless abandon. His posture, as always, was dreadful, and he sat so low he may as well have been half-lying on the seat. But it was comfortable enough, and he wasn’t exactly in the mood to impress his newfound carriage-mate with how put together he was. He knew to be polite, that had been drilled into him for as long as he could remember. His muggleborn mother would not allow her sons to make fools of themselves in front of other established wizarding families, especially given the relative taste of subtle prejudice that still clung to the air of those circles. She had done her best to shield them from it, true, but the other children lacked the décor of their parents and could hardly be expected to be as subtle in their outdated jabs as their thin-blooded parents.

No, he knew how to bite his tongue when necessary, how to force himself to be social when his heart wanted nothing more than to do say no more than necessary. He hated small talk, but he was capable enough of imitating the art. To some degree, at least, his skills in the subtle science tended to collapse when he grew angry.

And the other boy almost certainly knew how to properly handle himself socially, after all he had welcomed him with a small smile and a gesturing hand. Moreover, he had done what was absolutely required of the given situation and introduced himself. Leonard Oaksworth. A name that Nicholas could not claim to be familiar with, although he wasn’t exactly in the habit of going out of his way to meet people and understand the entire school roster. In any event, he knew the boy now.

“Nicholas McCowan,” He offered a smile in response, extending his hand for a handshake, a proper gesture he had been taught, “Glad to hear it, I don’t think my ears can handle another attempt at a dolphin imitation.”

He chuckled at the joke, and suddenly felt far more at ease with his intrusion into the compartment. At least Leonard was the type to share a disdain for the loud and annoying. Perhaps he would also share an enjoyment for a comfortable silence and not feel the need to engage in small talk. It was a risk that Nicholas could possibly risk taking, but that would also mean that he could offend the other boy if he was wrong. He wasn’t usually the type to go out on a limb to engage in conversation, but there were only the two of them in the carriage compartment, and it wasn’t like they would be able to be rid of each other anytime soon. Normally, Nicholas would just excuse himself and go rest on his bed or what-not. That wasn’t exactly an option in this scenario. So instead, he followed the timeless advice of his mother, and took the icy plunge into the realm of casual conversation.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before,” He tested the waters with the comment, a relative non-starter, before continuing, “Second Year, Gryffindor.”
The words hung on empty air for a moment before he quickly added, “I mean that’s what I am. Probably why we haven’t gotten a chance to meet.”

He was gambling, he was pretty certain that the other boy wasn’t in his year or house. Well, he was sure he wasn’t in both, and that would be enough for the guess. Perhaps he would be able to fake his way through the conversation somewhat. Fake it to you make it right? That was the old muggle adage.

“Summer camp should be interesting though?” Another nothing question, a space-filler, the type Nicholas struggled with.

Why was socialising so difficult?

Stats: STA: 12 | EVA: 6 | STR: 8 | WIS: 6 | ARC: 4 | ACC: 6
Abilities: Foulplay | Statistically Relevant
Tags: @Leonard Oaksworth
Action: Trying to small talk